


Late At Night A Lover Sings

by rainbowstrlght



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Angst and Humor, Holidays, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-01
Updated: 2011-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-14 07:02:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/146659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainbowstrlght/pseuds/rainbowstrlght
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Summary:</b> When Zach leaves for New York, Chris is worried. How will their relationship survive the year, when they'll spend most of it apart?<br/><b>Summary 2:</b> Holiday fic - well, of <i>all</i> the holidays I guess, but mostly the winter season.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late At Night A Lover Sings

**Author's Note:**

> **Beta:** The amazing [lalazee](http://lalazee.livejournal.com/) \- who actually edited this while on _vacation_ , oh my goodness. Thank you so much darlin', for spurring this onward when I didn't think I'd ever complete it. You're the greatest. ♥  
>  **Note:** Special thanks go to [reezoo](http://reezoo.livejournal.com/) and [vector_nyu](http://vector-nyu.livejournal.com/), who put up with an awful lot of late-night whining. Thanks, dearies. ♥  
>  **Note 2:** While there is a recurring character from a previous fic, this actually isn't a sequel. Can we just blame my laziness on parallel universe? Awesome.  
>  **Note 3:** Title comes from the song ["A Lover Sings"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACnrOBZaEqU) by Billy Bragg.

_Happy New Year! – January 1st, 2010_

 

“You shouldn’t have dared me, Zachary Quinto!”

I shiver as I race naked from the balcony and flop down stomach first on a pair of hairy legs, draped across a king-sized hotel bed. They pull away quickly, as Zach bats a hand at my shoulders.

“I can’t believe you just did that!” His expression betrays the mock outrage, with his face cracked into a contagious grin.

“If a paparazzo has that photo by morning, I’m forwarding all my angry voicemails to _you_ ,” I wheeze out in-between laughter, as I bat my hands back and roll off of him. “My agent would have a _field day_.”

“Yeah, but who did you really flash, anyway?” Zach pokes my side with a toe. “Some granny who hasn’t seen anything dangle since her wedding night in 1952, or the garbage man whose seen rats bigger than your dick?”

I grab Zach’s ankle, and he wrestles it away without interrupting a huff of his cigarette.

“The latter, thanks – and he gave me a thumbs up.”

“Well, let’s be honest, he probably hasn’t seen much dick.”

“We’ll just shove _you_ onto the balcony, then.” I sit up to lean back against the headboard, opposite of Zach, as I grab my lighter and his Parliaments. “Seriously though, you’re lucky nobody was looking up.”

“Hey, you’re the one who wanted to play truth or dare.” Zach aligns the soles of our feet, with his toes casually kissing mine one minute, and fiercely pressing with taut calf muscles the next. He watches me from between his spread legs, then smirks when he catches me staring at the exact same space.

I only give him a coy glance. “Whatever, you agreed too.” I light up as I watch Zach bend one leg to create an arc between us. “Which, speaking of, let’s see what _you_ need to do.”

Zach huffs a laugh as he stubs out in the glass ashtray beside him. “You’re assuming I just won’t pick truth.”

I roll my eyes. “All right, Zach – truth or dare?”

He quirks a lip, then carefully pronounces, “ _Truth._ ”

“You little bitch!”

I think as I take a long drag of my cigarette, then let it filter out slowly as I move forward on hands and knees, balancing over bent legs. With the lit ember angled away, I kiss his bare stomach – chest, neck, jaw – before I hover mere inches from Zach’s face with a grin, my mind made up.

I watch his expression closely, my gaze traveling from jawline to ear to shaggy hair to eyebrows to those brown eyes watching curiously, waiting - challenging me not to disappoint him in this game of wits.

But I will, just this once – indulgently. I press our naked bodies at the waist, feeling him flinch at my cool skin, before I whisper above his lips, “Truth – do you love me?”

I kiss him softly, my lips dragging from his mouth to his chin to trail to the pulse point as I don’t wait for my answer; knowing it’ll likely get shouted later after I blow him.

But instead I feel a hand press against my chest, pushing me up until I see Zach’s raised eyebrow and a pointer finger motioning a _Wait_.

As he rolls out from under me I rest on an elbow, cigarette to lips as I watch his naked ass stride confidently towards the balcony. Zach’s beautiful hands clutch the edges of the french doors, strong arms bracing against them, as he peers out into the cold early morning of New York City.

I’m paying more attention to the art of the muscles in his back as they stretch and flex, than the deep breath before he shouts -

“Hey! _Hey_ , New York City!” Zach bellows. “I’m in love with Chris – Chris, _my_ Chris. Who’s smart, and funny, and has the _best fucking ass_ – “

I snort a laugh as Zach looks back at me with a gleeful grin; still displaying to the crisp night air everything I want to keep for myself.

He takes another deep breath. “And I love him! _I love him_. And I’m gonna go fuck him senseless, right now.”

I feel the giggling erupt from my chest as I lean back, waiting for the chilled body to fall between my legs so he can fuck me; as we’ve fucked all night long.

And I don’t feel the cold as his mouth is hot and rough and demanding upon mine, blitzing all my senses to ignore a gruff voice filtering from the streets below:

“Good for you - now go put some damn clothes on!”

 

 _Happy Valentine’s Day! – February 13th, 2010_

 

“It’ll just be the two of us, at home,” Zach whispers in my ear as we lie in bed. "We can have a cozy night in, with a movie maybe - "

"But there's a new exhibit at the Getty."

“I’ll cook dinner, and I'll set out some candles - “

“Do you have a fire extinguisher?”

“I can even put on some music.” He kisses a sensitive ridge. “We can do whatever you want, I'm all yours.”

Despite his lips behind my ear, I don't hesitate. “Then I want to go out dancing.”

I hear - as expected - the deep _hmm_ of disapproval, and I roll my eyes at his thwarted plans.

“Zach, it's not like Steve would kill us. It’s just one night.”

Actually, maybe my over-controlling agent _would_. It had taken some convincing these past few months to stop the faux-dating game, especially when I was already dating somebody - somebody I actually _liked_. And while Steve didn't really care that I was gay, he just cared if I _appeared_ gay – some supposedly cardinal sin for Hollywood, to be avoided at all costs. (“If you don’t throw out all your tight v-necks I swear to _God_ that I will go over there and set them on fire – and use your entire porn collection as kindling.”)

So a compromise for publicly “confirmed bachelor” had been arranged, to appease management. But it had its caveats, of course.

“I have like, every gay dance hit of the last 20 years.” Zach’s hand wanders from my bare thigh to waist. “I even have _Fired Up_ \- “

“Isn’t that redundant?”

“So can’t you find something to dance to _here_?”

I feel a press on my hip, and I turn over on my back to look at him. Amber eyes with fond frustration peer down at me, as he knows what I’m getting at.

“I just want to go _out_ ,” I whine unintentionally, feeling like a 14-year-old girl. But it’s not like I’m asking to go to Akbar, for fuck’s sake – I mean, bros could go together to museums, right? If I have to compromise, it’s rather tame on the scale of imaginable things. It’s not like I'm going to fellate any of the Greek statues, or – _gasp_ \- hold Zach’s hand in public.

“All right,” Zach huffs with an exaggerated sigh. “I’ll just call Olivia – “  
I punch his arm. “Don’t threaten like that.”

But I know it’s not a threat - not really. Just misguided over-protectiveness for the sanctity of my movie star _honor_. Because while I disagree with my management, Zach doesn’t – he doesn’t at all. He only echoes the idea that I’m lucky to have my career so young, so broad and open before me. That I can go anywhere, _should_ go anywhere – grab money like some monocled banker, while I can. Play up the traits of the buff action hero, while I can. Flaunt the mythical, nerdy man-slut image that my agent’s firm is concocting, while I can.

Basically: Pretend to be everything I’m _not_ , while I can.

And although I’ve argued with Zach before that it bugs the _shit_ out of me, it doesn’t matter now with his lips mouthing my neck, trailing to clavicle, trailing further down – I’ve already lost. I lost so long ago, when we first met and I felt a knowledge I haven’t encountered since - this deep sense of _destiny_. Strong enough to leap after months of circling, and finally rooming together on tour. Strong enough that when Zach stated it would be near impossible and difficult to be together, I accepted the challenge.

He didn’t want to hurt my potential. I wish he understood that – generally? That potential could go _fuck_ itself. But Zach found it hard to live with that sacrifice, just as I found it hard to live without Zach.

“I’ll make lasagna,” he says sweetly, before kissing a nipple. “With homemade bread sticks, and red wine – “

And he might have mentioned cake or pie, but all I can think about is Zach’s hand on my dick; all my concentration narrowed on his lazy stroke upward.

“Yeah?” I say absently, before my breath hitches with his faint touch on my abs.

But he only hums in affirmation, the base of my spine buzzing with his mouth so close, his hand letting go – before his lips purse in an obscene kiss, then open to suck and engulf me whole.

Is the universe smaller or larger with him in it? My senses always hyper-aware, no matter if we’re fully clothed. Yet I’ve never felt like this, this overwhelming desire that extended beyond the physical - the body parts aligning like always, but the instinct to fuck only the base. Now there is a spark; the gears turning and twisting to make something larger, to roll something forward, to give love some meaning –

“Fuck fuck fuck _Zach_ , I’m close – “

He swallows, and I shout as I fall hard into the bliss – reaching for some poetically metaphorical whiteness, the mind fritzing and blanking gratefully.

It shouldn’t be this good, but it always is with Zach – only ever, with Zach.

When my eyes eventually flutter open I see him move to lie beside me; amused by my bonelessness, yet so beautiful with swollen lips.

I have to tell him. “ _Mmm_ – Zach?”

He leans into my side, his erection pressing into my hip. “Yeah?”

I muster up as much meaningful emphasis as I can manage. “I fucking _love_ your mouth.”

Zach chuckles. “Gee, I love you too.”

He leans down to kiss me, lingering a brief moment, before he has to sit up to grab the bottle of lube. When he looks back I already have knees pulled impatiently to my chest, with only one plan of action in mind.

Zach grins wickedly, triumphant. “Staying at home is nice, wouldn’t you say?”

As his fingers press inside me, I can only sigh in agreement.

 

 _Happy St. Patrick’s Day! – March 17th, 2010_

 

Zach had talked about it, sure. Since the days when were just friends, to when were filming, and beyond from when we started dating – New York had been at the back of his mind, _always_. His idea that it was a culmination of so much struggling, the epitome of “making it” - Zach needed to get out there someday, no matter what it took.

He had trained to be there, and hell – it’s not like money was sparse now. He could do whatever he wanted, _live_ wherever he wanted. Make the dream finally come true.

“I won’t stay there. I’ll just have an apartment that I go to every once in awhile - for projects.”

It’s just... earlier than expected. _Way_ earlier than expected.

“I can fly back and forth.” Zach can’t help the giddy grin, the cheeky poke to my shoulder. “I’ll be back before you can even get comfortable on my awesome second-hand couch of awesomeness, and steal all my shirts.”

I want to make a face at him, but the knot in my chest only dampens my sense of humor - if it still exists. Especially since I _will_ probably steal his shirts – like I already do, with the white Hanes passing my agent’s inspection test of _The Gay_. (“No stripes. The moment you wear stripes, I am castrating you and sending your balls to your boyfriend in memoriam – don’t test me Pine, I’ve got a boy scout pocket knife _right here_.”)

In this instance however, it feels like Zach is freaking out more than my agent ever would.

Was it fortuitous or premeditated, these sudden projects from nowhere? Sure, _Margin Call_ and the stage readings were really great opportunities for him, opportunities he certainly couldn’t get here – which, maybe that was the point. That New York was _destiny_ for Zach.

But unfortunately, it just feels like an ill-timed fleeing attempt from _nothing_.

Although Zach’s face, that night at the Lourd’s Oscar Party – a scary mixture of panic and anger, clouding up the front seat of the car – was certainly not _nothing_. It had colored every argument we’ve had since that incident a few weeks ago.

“Greg was in the backseat! And it was an event party - it’s not weird that we went together.”

Of which Zach wouldn’t even disagree... or hell, _agree_. When he wasn’t avoiding the subject entirely, of course.

“We were almost in an Oscar nominated movie, for fuck’s sake!” I give an exasperated sigh, after another thwarted attempt of even getting coffee together. “It’s probably expected of us – we’re supposed to be _friends_ , at least.”

But Zach would only brusquely nod, or change the subject – usually to New York. Which does nothing to quell the anxiety I feel, this idea that he’s shutting off and running away – perhaps averting a suspected disaster zone.

“Take care of Noah and Harold for me, yeah?” Zach says with our foreheads pressed together. I’m standing in his house barefoot, and he’s fully dressed outside his door - the yellow taxi behind him in the muted background, with bags packed and ready to go.

“Yeah,” I answer softly, instead of the _why are you leaving me?_

When he removes his arm from my waist and turns from the screen door, I feel the eerie sense that this will be the last time we do this - the last time we stand here together, cohabiting the present, just the two of us. That things won’t be the same once he gets into that taxi, and leaves LA for good – maybe leaving _us_ for good.

When he looks at me from the window and waves fingers goodbye, I feel helpless as I watch Zach slip away – into a future that potentially doesn’t include me - as the taxi turns the corner out of sight.

 

 _Happy Anniversary! – April 5th, 2010_

 

 _”Did my brother call you, at least?”_

No, no he hadn’t. “Zach’s been busy. He usually calls at night.”

 _”Is that still douchey in gay code? Because my wife would kick my ass.”_

I roll a shoulder. “We’re going to talk later - ”

 _”Especially since it’s your first butt-fucking anniversary.”_

“I was going to mention it’s a year since we flew to Sydney, but I’m more disturbed that you know _that_.”

 _”Are you kidding? We could_ hear you. _Karl kept wagging eyebrows at John, and John kept making obscene hand motions at Simon, and Katie and I almost threw up in a potted plant – how could I forget?”_

“I think she actually had morning sickness.”

 _”Whatever, I shared the sentiment. Did he send you flowers, at least?”_

I furrow my brows. “What? The morning after?”

 _”No, today.”_ I hear Joe sigh down the line. _”Seriously, my brother is a jerk. Do you want me to go beat him up?”_

Despite my mood, a corner of my lip quirks up. “Do you ever need a reason to beat him up?”

 _”Absolutely, he always deserves it – and I like you, so I’ll even knock him in the kisser, how about that?”_

“But what if I _like_ his kisser?”

 _”Ewww, then don’t tell me.”_ But there’s a soft laugh from him, anyway. _”Well, the offer still stands if he’s a schmoe.”_

“Thanks. I guess I’ll... keep that in mind? ”

And when Zach only texts later that he loves and misses me, I can’t decide if that means I should to take Joe up on the offer.

 

 _¡Feliz Cinco de Mayo! – May 5th, 2010_

 

I roll over in bed, the palm of my hand smoothing over the cotton of the sheets, reveling in the feel of my fingertips running into the body next to me.

“ _Hmm_ ,” Zach says in sleep, his eyes fluttering but staying closed in the early morning sunlight.

I don’t wake him, as we’ve had a long night, and this is the last day I can lay next to him like this – probably for the next month, maybe for a long while. Zach doesn’t know when he can return to LA, and I don’t know when next I can leave it.

I’m lucky enough for the few trips in the first place – maybe it’s my reward for landing so many new projects, since Steve is the one who lined up the NYC events for me. (“Jesus - _cheer the fuck up_. He didn’t die, he just can’t suck your cock at the moment. If I hear you sigh one more time, I’m shoving Paxil down your throat – God, you’d probably like my fist there, _nevermind_.”)

Whatever the reason, the sleepovers were much needed. The last few months have been hard, with time not making anything easier. Being an actor supposedly made the distance understandable, an expected side-effect of the business – but I couldn’t get around it. I had been away from lovers before, and it wasn’t this difficult – so why was Zach different? Zach _was_ different, a jarring fact in my actor reality, when I tried to get by in the world.

I look over the smooth skin of Zach’s back, and see the natural light of his apartment - a loft with open spaces and windows facing the street. Not some executive suite in Trump tower, but somewhere that artists dream of in the city, the way a place of no inhibitions should look like.

Zach has only been here two months and it’s already so much like him. Back home, the presence has left – settling here in the clothes on a chair, the used tea mug on a counter, the papers on the coffee table. Back in LA the dishes are washed, the shirts smell of detergent, and Noah runs to me when I call him – life has moved on, moved on without me.

I lift the tip of a pointer finger to lightly brush Zach’s forearm – wanting to touch his hair instead, wanting to desperately curl up next to him and bury my face into his shoulder, grip his bicep.

And I instinctively do so, before my mind catches up – with Zach’s arm curling around me, unexpected, though still half asleep.

It may be the closest we get before going out into the world; only showing the most of us that we’re allowed.

 

 _Happy Birthday! – June 13th, 2010_

 

I nervously wipe the counter, then the stove, the sink – before I fiddle with the perfect alignment of towel over oven handle, the dishtowel perfectly centered and even. I’m tempted to replace it with a cleaner one, but I turn towards the living room where the same nervous excitement builds up – my hands now moving accent pillows, magazines, until the doorbell finally rings.

It startles me for a second, making my mind forget that I had planned to play it cool – not rush at full-run towards the door to fling it wide open.

Which is kind of embarrassing, as there’s a face I hadn’t expected.

“Man, don’t pretend you’re excited to see me or anything,” Joe says as he strides past me and heads into the living room. “I take it Zach’s not here yet?”

I shake my head _no_ , the nerves still in my limbs as I lean against the side of the door. I watch Joe move towards the couch to plop down next to Noah.

“Don’t worry puppy, Daddy will be here any minute.” Joe shakes a braided chew toy, and I watch the frayed ends swish as I try to calm my breathing.

Not that I care if Joe is here – he probably wants to see his _brother_ , after all – but I kind of wanted the reunion between Zach and I to be tinged with something... _other_ than friendly.

“You think your Daddy is nervous, hmm?” Joe throws the toy, and watches Noah run across the living room to skate the kitchen floor. “Seriously Chris, you just saw him last month.”

“I _know_ ,” I say petulantly, as Joe is right. People do this all the time – a month should be no big deal, not at all – we should be _pros_.

“You guys have anything planned for his birthday?”

I shake my head. I hadn’t been able to get away, and Zach hadn’t been able to leave due to personal business – like getting cast in _Angels in America_ , and extending his fucking lease. The memory of the day is just another smack of reality, where the expanse of distance hit too hard - I didn’t care for the reminder.

Joe looks up incredulously. “Really?”

Well, nothing I was going to share with _him_.

“Then you don’t mind if we zip out for a bite to eat to catch up?”

I want to open my mouth and say something polite, when I hear steps beside me.

“ _I’ve_ got plans,” Zach says, and when I turn my head this time I _am_ startled. He always looks more gorgeous than I remember, different each time - like New York is looking good on him.

“Come here,” he mutters, and he is leaning down towards my mouth to possess – and I let him with head tilted, lips eager. The need jumps into my throat, overwhelming with how much I’ve missed this - how much I’ve missed _him_.

I am surveying the difference in teeth, in tongue, in bottom lip – when there’s a distinct _cough_.

“You know Zach, your dog _also_ missed you,” Joe says, grinning at us.

“Noah! Did you miss me?”

And as if there’s any doubt, Noah’s tail is wagging a hundred times a minute to the sound of Zach’s voice. Zach passes me to jump onto the couch, where Noah melts into his side until not an inch of space exists between them.

I’m still leaning against the door when Joe steps back, framing the picture.

“Smile and say – biscuit!”

I quirk a lip, hearing the camera click on Zach’s iPhone. _This_ is what home is about - more than I would care to admit.

 

 _Happy Fourth of July! – July 4th, 2010_

 

I wake up from the deep sleep, the script angled over my chest on the edge of slipping, my eyes blinking away –

 _Fuck_.

I grab my phone quickly, with one hand opening the text message as the other keeps my place in the script.

> are you watching?

I breathe a sigh of relief when I see it was sent only 30 minutes ago, and I turn on the TV – scrolling through all the channels, trying to find the right one.

When the music of the Boston Pops playing _Oh beautiful, for spacious skies_ filters through the speakers, I text back

> I am now. 

I wait for it, biding my time by reaching over to turn off a lamp. It’s just me in the darkness on my sagging couch, watching the boom of the fireworks burst on my digital screen.

It’s a minute, but

> boom boom boom – feels like my heart.

I want to smile, but I can’t. Not when it’s been a month, and it’ll be longer before I see him next – more like _months_ , months after I’m done with Inishmore and another movie.

My phone vibrates again.

> boom boom boom is code for i love you.

I take a deep breath, my eyes riveted to the text screen as I write back:

> Boom boom boom is all I think about.

The truth, in 160 characters or less.

> me too – i miss you. 

No, I’m sure I miss you more – _from sea to shining sea_.

 

 _Happy Birthday! – August 26th, 2010_

 

I shade my eyes from the mid-day sun, looking ahead of me into the redwoods, accompanied by only the sound of my hiking boots scuffing together and knocking against a tree root.

Not that I was listening for my phone to vibrate or anything, but I _hate_ that jarring sound - almost as much as my phone being silent most of the day.

Zach had warned me that his schedule would be busy, and we’d probably be two ships passing in the night. Which is partially why I left home early this morning, driving far to Los Padres - hoping there’d be no bars out here in the forest, hoping I could escape potential anxiety and hurt and disappointment.

I just ran a mostly-successful show, and soon I’ll be off to film a movie with a top-paying actress - I _should_ be happy. Career-wise, I’m mostly fulfilled.

Which is the other reason that I’m out here - I’m 30, and I’m wondering why I’m not fulfilled in everything else, not like I expected.

I heft my backpack, and make way towards the primitive campground I remember – the one I’d always visit with Dad. Those summers – _those_ summers when I could only dream of what I wanted to be, and what I would be like. Look at the majestic sequoia, and think in my head, _I’ll be touching you someday when I’m famous._

And I guess that’s true now - but I can’t relish it. Not when contact between the two of us is becoming less and less. One more meaningful connection being cut between an old life and a new life - a bridge I thought was sturdy collapsing underneath me.

I don’t want a stupid text, anyhow. I’m not going to make Zach talk to me - on my _birthday_.

There’s a small clearing, and all the sudden my phone rattles obnoxiously against the carabiner in my pocket. I fumble for it, my fingers scrambling to get it out and look at the face of it.

No, I’m not disappointed when it’s _Steve_ , my agent.

I hit ‘ignore’ and cut to the home screen – only to see I have about 10 missed calls, three likely-screaming voicemails, and a few texts – which I can’t check because the phone vibrates again.

I take a deep breath and cheerfully answer, “Hello, Lover.”

 _”I will fucking rip you a new one and shove it into the orifice of your inanimate cocksucker mouth if you don’t – fuck, where’s the fucking beep, did you throw your phone off a goddamn cliff - ”_

“That’s a nice birthday greeting, keep going.”

 _”Oh, Pine – where the fuck are you?”_

I purse my lips as I look around. “Why?”

 _”Because I have_ shit for you to do. _Get your ass away from the middle of nowhere and come do it.”_

“It’s my birthday.”

 _”And I care?”_

I sigh as I walk a tentative step forward. “I’m busy.”

 _”Doing what? Unless it’s shoving dollar bills in a stripper’s ass then it’s not important and you need to_ come here. _”_

I look around at the ground, hearing Steve silently seethe as I pick up a leaf and flip it over, my eyes following the spines as I choose a tactic. “Steve – “

 _”Pine, this better be good - ”_

“Have you ever looked around you and noticed that the world was just passing you by?”

 _”Who the fuck am I, Dr. Phil? No, no I haven’t - because I’m always too busy tracking down my useless fucking client – come. The fuck._ Here _.”_

“If Life is supposedly too short, then what am I supposed to wait for?” I drop the leaf, watching it fall as I’m a little bit too honest. “How can I tell what’s _worth_ waiting for, when everything seems to be pointing in the wrong direction – how can I _tell_?”

I hear an exasperated sigh down the line as I lean against a tree, waiting for my diversionary philosophy-bomb to end the conversation. Because I don’t really expect an answer from my 46-year-old bitter and twice-divorced agent. Instead, I’m filtering through my head on why he’s calling me in the first place - if there’s something I’m legitimately missing and need to grovel for.

I’m about to open my mouth to ask, when I’m interrupted.

 _“You’re an actor, you know the answer to that – you’re in the business of stupid optimism. The desire to act is to be a fucking twit, just hanging about - never giving up on the dream, no matter how much people say you’ll never fucking make it. A few years back I could’ve thrown you a commercial, and you would’ve kissed my feet – when we’d both know the opportunity was shit. And yet_ you _persevered,_ you _out of all the twits here in Hollywood – except like most of them, you actually made it. You, out of all people, made it.”_

“That’s really encouraging, this faith in my abilities. ”

 _“But there’s plenty better talented, and better looking – you know just as well as I do that lady luck was kissing your ass.”_

I roll my eyes to the sky, but yeah – Steve had a point. I landed a franchise, and one with moneymaking history to boot. Not a lot of people ever made it there, or knew what it was like… except Zach.

I swallow, just as I hear another exasperated breath.

 _”But some things are just meant to happen. Somebody else could’ve been cast as Kirk, and the movie wouldn’t have been as great. If you hadn’t waited, if you hadn’t persevered, if_ you _hadn’t tried – then there wouldn’t have been that chemistry, and it wouldn’t have been Trek. It would’ve been Zach with some other blond pretentious fuck, saying lines that were made for your stupid ass, and it wouldn’t have been the same.”_

I narrow my eyes at the phone, wondering when this seemingly diverged off topic - or was it on topic?

 _”So, you knew it was the right thing to do, the right project to take -”_

“Was it a strain to admit that?”

 _”Pine, it’s a strain to actually be patient with you – just do what you fucking want! If you know he’s the right guy, then stick with him. It may be stupid, but love is shit and that’s the way it is. Nobody knows better than you what to do, and besides me, you’re your own fucking boss – don’t let anyone else dictate your decisions, or tell you what’s normal. You’re gay, you’re already a fucking freak - “_

“That’s touching.”

 _”So fuck them all, and do what you want. Capiche?”_

I wanly frown at the ground, scuffing my boots together – did Steve actually just try to give me _advice_? Advice that was supposed to make me _feel better_?

 _”Just - don’t do anything that makes me string your balls up, all right? Although for me to do that, you’d have to_ come here. _”_

I huff as I look up at the sun overhead, taking in one last sensual shot of nature before I resign myself – I’m strangely kind of proud of Steve, but I should also check to see if he’s ill.

“I’ve been out a while. Give me a few hours?”

 _”Yeah whatever, I just need you to sign things. I’ll even buy you coffee – happy birthday.”_

I gawk at the phone as I hear a click – not that Steve hasn’t been irate for less, but it must be paperwork he needs to fax. Or he just loves and misses me - _that much_.

I wait for the phone to clear the previous call, before I look at my home screen and am reminded of the texts.

> happy b-day! youre officially old now, but you still get the spankings!

and

> are you sleeping in? with whom? does noah still hog the bed when its not me?

then

> i love you, hope you have a good day.

I click out of the screen, and move towards where I parked.

 

 _Happy Halloween! – October 30th, 2010_

 

>  **Date:** 10/30/10 21:34  
>  **To:** zq@btd.com  
>  **From:** cwp80@hotmail.com  
>  **Subject:** Dream
> 
> I had a dream the other night that you were on the edge of a cliff. We had been hiking in Yosemite when out of nowhere a ledge appeared, and you were tip-toed to the brink of it - arms out, body angled precariously forward. I was several hundred feet behind you, yelling for you to step back – but you didn’t listen, you didn’t even turn your head.
> 
> When you fell forward, it was like the world fell out from under me, and I was falling too – except all I could see was the canyon beyond, in the space that you left. I ran forward, and when I looked down I could see nothing except rock below – like you weren’t even there, like you didn’t even fall – like you never existed.
> 
> When I woke up my legs had braced against the bed, and I was clutching at nothing - I haven’t had a nightmare like that in years, and I wonder if

 _Saved to Drafts, 22:16._

 

 _Happy Thanksgiving! – November 24th, 2010_

 

“Ma, I think you killed him.”

I keep my eyes closed, listening to Joe freak out his mother.

“Nonsense, he’s so skinny – “

I feel a tap on my shoulder.

“Hon - Christopher? Would you like more pie?”

I groan into the kitchen table, with the desire to smack Joe growing as I hear him snicker.

“ _Told ya_.”

“I bet he’s just tired – that was a long flight, and he has a longer day tomorrow.”

No shit.

“Joey, show him upstairs – “

I wince as the table knocks sharply against my chest – jerkface.

“ _Be nice._ ”

I turn my head to open my eyes, just in time to see Joe give Ma a mock-salute, before proffering a hand. “Need a lift?”

I glare at him as I push myself up – I’m pretty sure I could re-enact a Monty Python skit right about now. There had been pie, cookies, egg nog, appetizers -

“Do you want a glass of milk to go up with you, dear?”

 _Wafer-thin mint?_

“Ma, you can feed him to death tomorrow – say goodnight, Chris.”

Thankfully he pushes my back to get me through the kitchen door, with only a muted “Goodnight, dear!” trailing us - my feet not even fighting as I’m dragged along the way.

“This way, _Princess_ ,” he says as he shows me the staircase. Wisely he jogs a few steps ahead, so my bloated form can barely land a kick on his deserving ass.

Not that Joe hasn’t been kind this whole time - picking me up from the airport when Zach couldn’t. Being at his mother’s house, when Zach couldn’t.

 _”You don’t have to come. I probably can’t make it, and I don’t want to leave you alone there – “_

Fucking _Zach_ \- that’s not how it’s supposed to go. He came to my side’s Thanksgiving last year, so I was supposed to go to his. That was the rule – the rule since people starting dating each other in the history of dating _ever_.

 _”But I probably won’t be there.”_

Yeah well - _my_ ass was going to Pittsburgh, come hell or high water. Even if the hell was Reese Witherspoon delaying filming a few hours, before shooting could end for the weekend and _she_ could go home.

Zach, _Reese_ got to go home - why couldn’t you?

“And _heeeere_ it is,” Joe says dramatically, waving his arms in front of a bedroom door. “The moment you’ve been waiting for.”

I look blandly towards it, seeing _Z’s Room_ written in Crayola on poster board, surrounded by little stick figures of ninjas.

“You ready?”

I roll my eyes – although I won’t lie, and say I haven’t been curious. Would Zach’s old room look like his house – eccentric yet tidy, covered with interesting playbills and ephemera of his travels? Or would it be like my teenaged disaster area, covered in posters of movies and musicians I had liked?

Joe twists the knob and pushes it roughly to swing the door open - leading the wood to knock against a closet.

A white closet, for a white-walled room - covered in album art for George Michael, and _RENT_ , and personal photos from high school.

“Is it everything you dreamed of?”

I huff. “It has a _bed_.” Which is all I’m truly paying attention to, at the moment.

I walk towards it, eyeing the blue-striped sheets, when I hear a soft “Hey” behind me.

I turn to see Joe leaning on the doorknob, with cheek pressed against the wood.  
“Thanks for coming, man. It means a lot to Ma.”

I nod – I actually like Ma Quinto, when she isn’t stuffing me senseless. “No problem.”

Joe nods back. “Goodnight.”

“’Night.”

When he’s halfway to closing the door, I see it quickly swing open again - Joe clutching the edge, peering nervously.

“Chris?”

I’m still facing him and I raise my brows. “Yeah?”

“Thanks... for sticking with Zach.” His face is sheepish. “I know it’s hard, and he doesn’t make it easier with flying to London, and ditching holidays – “

I internally wince.

“But he’s a good guy – you must know that. He’s just... “ Joe waves a hand. “Kind of _flighty_. Some Gemini bullshit. Has a strange way of showing he cares, and all that.” Joe shrugs. “You’re a saint, because I’m a Scorpio and would’ve kicked his ass by now.”

I’ve heard that line of reasoning before, with all the books at Borders saying the same. But it doesn’t change that I’m a Virgo - just somebody who desires a reasonable modicum of reliability. Like most people, I imagine.

“It works for us,” I say to Joe, who politely accepts it and says goodnight. But when he leaves the room the words stick in the air, ringing hollow.

 _”I have an interview with Meredith Veira in the morning, and then some radio promotion stuff – “_

I finally look at the room, and - _hell_ , it’s amazing the presence that Zach still has here. The row of drama trophies, lining a bookshelf. Yearbooks and paperbacks lining another underneath. Some props hanging from a spire post of a dresser, the oval mirror looking at my disheveledness with a _Hey, who are you - what are you doing here?_

Maybe I don’t know.

I plop down on the bed and look up, counting the blades of a ceiling fan. My cargo pants thankfully offer some mild give, and I unknot them - thinking about how this is the exact ceiling Zach woke up to, for over 18 years of his life. Teenaged Zach, with hopes and dreams of his own - maybe with angst, maybe with optimism.

I take a deep breath – fuck, Zach is _everywhere_. Vancouver had been no different than the saturation of this room – his presence always on the edge of my consciousness, tripping the mind. A hum in the background, a pulse of the nerve at the end of my fingertips - the red hue in everything I see, everything I think about.

I miss him.

As if on cue, my cell vibrates. I pat down the kangaroo pocket of my hoodie, before mumbling a, “Hello?”

 _”You sound tired. Ma put you in carb coma, didn’t she?”_

I close my eyes, allowing my body to melt into the mattress. “Yeah, you could say as much.”

 _”Did she make apple pie?”_

I nod. “And pumpkin bars, and iced sugar cookies, and applesauce raisin cake, and – “

I hear a chuckle on the other end of the line, and I can’t help but smile. “I feel set up here.”

I can imagine the wicked expression on Zach’s face, as he quirks a lip or tilts his head. _”Maybe. Maybe not.”_

“Your mom thinks I’m too skinny.”

 _”Ma thinks everybody’s too skinny if they don’t have a pot belly.”_

“Oh God - ”

 _”’Zach, there’s no reason a man should fit into 28-inch jeans.’”_ The mock-pitch is almost uncanny. _”’You’re not growing like a beanstalk, you’re just gonna blow over if you don’t eat your meat.’”_

I snort. “You adlibbed, there’s no way – “

 _”’Zach, are you not letting Chris eat your meat? Or is he a vagatarian and won’t – ‘”_

I bluster a laugh. “ _Vagatarian?_ God, you’re going to hell for this -“

 _”’And don’t forget to add plenty of butter, it makes everything juicy and slick – ‘”_

I’m laughing helplessly, waving an arm in protest. “I give up – I give up!”

I hear snickering down the line, and then, _”Yeah, Ma likes to feed people. I don’t know what to tell you.”_

“Is there – “ I calm my breath, “a secret to making this work out for me?”

 _”Sure - just compliment everything she makes, and then eat it like a big boy.”_

I groan. “I think I’m gonna die before tomorrow, so that won’t matter.”

 _”Tsk, so overdramatic.”_ The voice is low. _”But you better not.”_

I let out a huff of breath. “And why not?”

There’s a pause on the other end, and I can imagine a combination _because I want to see you again_ , or _you’re too pretty to die_ , but mostly wanting a, _because I love you._

 _”Who would take care of Noah?”_

I roll my eyes at the ceiling. “Thanks. Goodnight -”

 _”Hey – hey, wait a minute, just wait a minute.”_

I close my eyes and concentrate on the city noises in the background. No doubt Zach is in a taxi, heading fast to somewhere amazing - somewhere without me.

 _”I love you. And I think it’s great that you’re there for Ma this Thanksgiving, when I can’t be.”_

I wanly smile. “But I’m not you.”

 _”No, but if you haven’t guessed, you’re kind of her favorite.”_

“I doubt this.”

 _”Next to Noah, of course.”_

“I still doubt this – he’s pretty cute, you know.”

 _”Well, your baby blues are kind of irresistible when they beg.”_

“You know strangely, I keep begging for the food to stop, and nothing happens.”

 _”Your mouth says no, but your eyes say yes.”_ A chuckle, and then, _”How about everything else? Is Noah doing okay?”_

“He was sleeping under the kitchen table last time I saw him.”

 _”Pfft, then you are obviously over-exaggerating – “_

“Um, _no_ \- she overfed me _and_ your dog. If Noah has doggie diabetes, you can’t blame me.”

 _”Wouldn’t dream of it. Except I_ do _remember all those times you snuck tootsie rolls under the table – “_

“They are like, five calories each, and not even made of real chocolate.” I roll over with a grin, and glance at the shelves of Zach’s headboard. “And besides, I needed to bribe him to like me at first.”

 _”As if he wasn’t always eating out of the palm of your hand.”_

Something catches my eye, and I move up onto my knees to get a better look.

 _”Everyone loves you, Chris.”_

“You make that sound like a bad thing.”

 _”Not at all. But I don’t think you realize how amazing that is.”_

I fiddle with the red power button of a cassette deck stereo, realizing its stickiness is probably from the tape peeling above it. “Yeah, but Joe and Ma love everybody.”

 _”Not really. You should get her to talk about Marguerite some time.”_

I raise an eyebrow. “Marguerite - is there something you’re not telling me?”

Zach laughs. _”Joe’s ex-girlfriend of five years. Was a real hoot on holidays, let me tell you – now_ she _said no to Ma’s apple pie.”_ There’s a tick of the tongue. _”Let her be a lesson to you – she’s the ex_ Who Must Not Be Named _”_

“Zach, will you still love me when I’m 720 pounds?”

 _”Well – “_

I quickly dial the volume down when I get the tape deck to play, and ABBA blares from the stereo.

“Jesus Zach, you couldn’t be more gay if the _Cats_ soundtrack was in the other slot.”

There is silence as I look. “Fuck, you scared me – just a mix tape, thank God.”

I hear a cough. _”ImighthaveCatsinmycar.”_

“What?”

 _”Nevermind – why are you fiddling with my stereo?”_

“Just because.” I smooth over a bass button also held down by scotch tape. “Looks interesting.”

 _”Joe passed that down to me, and now, get ready for this – “_

“I feel shivers up and down my arms.”

 _”You can take it for Noah.”_

“Wouldn’t expect any less.”

 _”Is he really doing okay with all the air travel?”_

“He’s a champ.” I test the volume again, and try to pinpoint the lyrics and melodies – I miss on the first one, the quality sounding like some local band. “He loved being on set. Reese practically smothered him in her boobs every day.”

There’s a sigh. _”I’m just inadequate to provide everything my hetero dog needs.”_

“She also makes great cooing noises - like, a pigeon.” I settle back down on the bed, arm behind my head. “Noah apparently loves pigeons.”

 _”Then maybe he’d like New York.”_

I swallow heavily – that death wail wasn’t the sound of my heart, I promise.

“Maybe.”

 _”My place is kind of small, but I could upgrade. I’d really love some company.”_

I close my eyes. “Yeah?”

 _”But he loves you a lot, so... ”_ The voice tapers off, then, _”Chris?”_

I open my eyes again. “Hmm?”

 _”I love you. I’ll talk to you soon.”_

I nod at the ceiling. “Love you, too. I’ll see you on TV tomorrow?”

 _”Unfortunately.”_ There’s a sigh, and then a whispered, _”Goodnight.”_

“’Night.”

I wait until the line goes dead, before listening again for the stereo. This time there is a song I recognize – from a cover, from my father’s music collection – it doesn’t matter.

 _”Juliet – the dice was loaded from the start. And I bet – and you exploded in my heart. And I forget, I forget – the movie song. When you wanna realize, it was just that the time was wrong – Juliet.”_

I close my eyes, dreaming once again of the cliff and the canyon.

 

 _Happy Solstice! – December 21st, 2010_

 

Maybe the thread does start to fray if you stretch it so long, and over such a distance. With time, with weathering the year – it can’t be helped, it can’t be prevented. Natural decay.

A week ago I made it to New York after _War_ had finished, only to land in the exhausted arms of a theater actor on the last length of his tether – someone emotionally gratified, yet physically drained from the tolls of the stage lights, night after night.

He hadn’t expected me, but I hadn’t given a fuck – not at this point when I just wanted to lie beside him, breathe the same air.

The week had been fine, and yet - this morning had not been fine. Not when I woke up early for some Christmas shopping, and – yeah, _that_ holiday had snuck up suddenly. Where had the year gone?

“Don’t go,” Zach had pleaded, his eyes half-lids and his voice groggy.

I had molded my body to his, with his hand limp on my hip. “Okay.” I had kissed him, then smiled against his lips. “Then make it worth my while.”

“Mmm... why?”

And just like that, the morning had turned into a crapfest – no doubt I had internally over-reacted, but it was too late, five hours gone. The comment had hit too close to home, and still does when I think back on it.

Thinking still as we’re both strolling in Central Park, barely talking.

Because yeah – why _would you_ , Zach? Do anything for me, when I’m the one who’s traveled back and forth this past year?

( _“Thanks... for sticking with Zach. He’s a good guy, he’s just... kind of_ flighty _. Some Gemini bullshit.”_ )

But maybe my mood had been obvious, since Zach rubbed eyes and insisted on going shopping with me. Yet nothing dissipated the entire time we walked in tandem, as I fought the urge to blurt out and ask, _Is this it? Are you done with me?_ \- the suspense a silent killer.

Perhaps I’d see his show tonight, and maybe I’d never see him again. Would it matter – would he notice?

Our chit-chat had been awkward, as I asked his opinion on a stuffed giraffe at FAO Schwartz, and whether he’d read _The Girl With the Dragon Tattoo_ at Borders. We had caught lunch from a vender and wound up here – cold, and walking apart.

The cold infiltrated everything – wasn’t New York where the magic happened? That famous photograph of the sailor kissing his girl after the end of World War II, and the lights of Time Square symbolic of the New World. That hope and potential in a melting pot, meshing everything together, old and new - a melting pot now covered with snow, hard to see.

Either I drown from the rain at home, or remain numb in New York City. I mean, shit - there are horses in the park, for fuck’s sake. _They_ walk in time together, and yet Zach and I can’t catch rhythm all day.

Zach turns his head and sees them, and then glances back at me to grab my hand.

I drag my feet. “Hey – “

“ _Just come with me_ ,” and his voice is so desperate, I can’t help but do so.

He stops the carriage driver, and hands him the fumbled dollars from his pocket. I’m coaxed inside, scooting over for Zach to sit beside me as the carriage lurches forward.

He barely waits to turn to me. “All right.”

I raise an eyebrow. “All right?”

“You’re pissed at me.”

I shake my head. “No, not really.”

“Then what’s with the silent treatment?”

I actually stare at Zach for a moment, before I see he’s serious. “ _Excuse me_?”

“You’re fuming over there, the cogs turning in your head – what the hell is up?”

I narrow eyes at him. “You tell me. You haven’t exactly been _chatty_ today, either.”

He huffs and looks to the side, watching trees that line the walkway instead of watching me. Which is probably for the best, because I have the worst feeling about this – this feeling that the world is teetering, going either way.

After a minute he turns back, and says, “I’ve been thinking.”

I swallow. “Oh?”

“About us.”

I’m sure my heart has leapt out, about to be trampled by the carriage. “Oh?”

His body is sideways in the seat, as he looks at me earnestly. “Chris – I can’t do this. I can’t do this distance.”

 _Oh God, oh God_ – “Oh?”

Zach looks at my face, and then vigorously shakes his head, “Hell – not like that! _Never_ like that.”

I stare at the floor, my mind a jumble as Zach shakes my shoulder.

“Chris - _Chris_. I’m trying to say I fucking _love_ you. But no matter what I do it comes out wrong, and no matter what I do stuff gets in the way, and no matter what I do you don’t seem happy, and you’re distant, and – fuck, you actually thought I was breaking up with you!“

I look up sharply. “Why wouldn’t I think so?”

“Because, because – “ he gesticulates wildly. “I love you!” He looks wildly at me. “Don’t you _know_ that?”

I look at him squarely. “Do I?”

And _finally_ he looks pissed. He quickly moves into my space, eye for eye, his breath warming my lips as he stares me down.

“I talk to you _daily_. I tell you I love you, _daily_.”

I huff. “You’re so aloof, sometimes it’s an afterthought.”

“I’m _aloof_?” He takes a deep breath, his exhale like a charging bull. “At least I’m fucking _honest_ \- honest about everything I feel. I don’t seethe for hours, keeping things to myself - ignoring texts or calls in some shitty passive-aggressiveness.”

The bile rises in my throat. “You’re fucking _joking_.”

“No, no I’m not.” He leans away from me, arms crossed. “You just bury things, and never bring them the surface – hiding shit that should be out in the open, so we can’t fix them. How can I make you happy, if you never tell me when you’re not?”

I grit my teeth. “I don’t hide _anything_.”

He leans in, enunciating terse syllables. “Then _prove it._ ”

Prove fucking _what_? I have no idea what he means, and he’s staring at me – a showdown of the century, the world riding on the line. _My_ world riding on the line - my aloof Zach almost preferable to the frustrating beast across from me, waiting impatiently for fucking _genius_.

There’s nothing I want more than out of this carriage – which is when it occurs to me.

I fumble with the latch.

“What – what are you doing – “

The door flings open, and I stick my head out, my arms bracing for balance. “Hey – hey New York! Central Park!”

I feel hands on my hips. “Chris, I didn’t mean – “

I kick him off with an _oof_. “There’s this guy riding with me right now, who doesn’t believe I love him!”

“That’s not what I said – “

“But I love him madly! More than anyone else, more than I’ll ever love anyone again – no one else for me, no one ever!” I take a deep breath - a thumbs up from a old woman catching my eye, and spurring me onward. “He’s all I think about, all I dream about – all I want, all I want _ever_.”

There are people lining the road to watch us pass, and a brief thought occurs to me that they know who I am – might know who’s riding with me. But I don’t hesitate, the moment propelling me to get things off my chest.

“The distance is hard, but it’s only because I need him - I _need_ him every day of my life. Nothing is as good as seeing him in person, talking to him in person, touching him in person – seeing him every morning - “

This time the hands grab and pull me back, slamming me into the seat, a muscular calf over my thigh to keep me in place.

Zach looks at me, a blush underlining his surprise. “I – I can’t believe you just did that!”

I look at him, breathless - the door ricocheting the side of the carriage and thumping a beat slower than my heart. It’s the only indication that time truly hasn’t stood still as I watch his eyes take me in, while I drink his honest and open expression.

I swallow, watching Zach’s face play out all the good emotions - the ones filled with love for me, ones I thought I’d never see – emotions that bring intense relief.

I whisper as the slowing carriage lurches us forward, bringing us closer together. “Then you shouldn’t have dared me, Zachary Quinto.”

He takes a sharp breath before grabbing the back of my neck, and making our mouths collide – a rough kiss demanding, plundering, yet fulfilling all the lonely depths of this past year. I lean into him, throwing my arms around him as we share breath, not wanting the joy to end as I finally feel what I’ve fucking wanted - what I truly needed all this damned time.

When he pulls away, he angles our foreheads together and whispers between us, “Come to New York, stay in New York.”

My eyes look at his closed lids. “What?”

“The city is no good without you.” He sniffs from the cold air. “All I do is think of you, see you everywhere. It’s not the same as being with you - it’s not the same with you slipping away.”

I shake my head. “I’m not.”

“Then stay with me.” He purses his lips for a quick kiss. “After the holidays, bring Noah and Harold and your things and come stay with me.”

I swallow. “ _All_ my things?”

Zach quirks a lip. “Well, not your _entire_ Stephen King collection. It’s just for a few months.”

I give a look, and he clarifies.

“We need to go back to LA. And then – we’ll go wherever you have to go.” His smile broadens, so bright it belies his words. “Fuck this distance shit - let’s never have this happen again.”

I fall back against the carriage, pulling him down with me. “Is this really going to work?”

“We’ll make it work - this feels right.“ He leans into my space, his lips ghosting my mouth. “Some things are just meant to happen - _we_ were meant to happen.”

His mouth swallows my answering grin, as his tongue seals the pact with mine. We barely notice the carriage has stopped until a gruff voice filters from the outside:

“That’s nice – now get the hell out!”

 

 _Happy New Year! – January 1st, 2011_

 

The soles of our feet press together, calve muscles taut as our legs battle with one another to the backdrop of the TV - still playing countdowns from around the world, showing people kiss as the ball drops. That glittery globe of time still up in the air for where I lived – where _we_ lived.

It made no difference, as these countdowns only played in the periphery - while we had meant to make it to Times Square, we had unfortunately been naked. CNN had to do, fritzing on Zach’s old TV.

My leg arcs, and I press back until his leg is folded at the knee – yoga working pretty fucking well for him, as I’m distracted by the curve of Zach’s ass.

He takes advantage and presses his foot forward – _hard_ – before sitting up to crawl over me, hover over me, my ass now exposed to him.

Zach’s hand smoothes down my thigh, grabbing a handful of flesh before his lascivious grin pins me - pins me to the spot, widening with a _10, 9, 8 -_

“Hey - you love me?” he says breathlessly, his hand moving lower to my opening, a finger probing where we made love before, and will again.

I nod as my breath hitches, the finger hitting my sweet spot.

 _5, 4, 3, 2 –_

“Always - _always_.”

And when he enters me, my body sings.


End file.
